"Rumanous a Greek Poet Jesus the Poet" 



He was a poet. He saw for our eyes and heard for our ears, and our silent words were upon His
lips; and His fingers touched what we could not feel. 

Out of His heart there flew countless singing birds to the north and to the south, and the little
flowers on the hill-sides stayed His steps towards the heavens. 

Oftentimes I have seen Him bending down to touch the blades of grass. And in my heart I have
heard Him say: "Little green things, you shall be with me in my kingdom, even as the oaks of
Besan, and the cedars of Lebanon." 

He loved all things of loveliness, the shy faces of children, and the myrrh and frankincense
from the south. 

He loved a pomegranate or a cup of wine given Him in kindness; it mattered not whether it
was offered by a stranger in the inn or by a rich host. 

And He loved the almond blossoms. I have seen Him gathering them into His hands and
covering His face with the 
petals, as though He would embrace with His love all the trees in the world. 

He knew the sea and the heavens; and He spoke of pearls which have light that is not of this
light, and of stars that are beyond our night. 

He knew the mountains as eagles know them, and the valleys as they are known by the brooks
and the streams. 

And there was a desert in His silence and a garden in His speech. 

Aye, He was a poet whose heart dwelt in a bower beyond the heights, and His songs though
sung for our ears, were 
sung for other ears also, and to men in another land where life is for ever young and time is
always dawn. 

Once I too deemed myself a poet, but when I stood before Him in Bethany, I knew what it is to
hold an instrument 
with but a single string before one who commands all instruments. For in His voice there was
the laughter of thunder 
and the tears of rain, and the joyous dancing of trees in the wind. 

And since I have known that my lyre has but one string, and that my voice weaves neither the
memories of yesterday nor the hopes of tomorrow, I have put aside my lyre and I shall keep
silence. But always at twilight I shall hearken, and I shall listen to the Poet who is the
sovereign of all poets.